


I Love You (More Than You Think I Do)

by larryandgaystuff (cnd8544)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alpha Harry, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Heats and Ruts, I'm so bad at tagging my apologies, Implied smut?, M/M, Miscommunication, Omega Louis, Pining, i'm not sorry about it, it's not graphic really but it's not rated G, the usual a/b/o dynamics, you get a fic from me you know it's gonna be fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 10:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13246608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cnd8544/pseuds/larryandgaystuff
Summary: Harry loves Louis. He has for as long as he can remember. And Louis loves him back. Just not in that way.It seems they're always just out of reach. Then Louis falls into heat. And nothing will ever be the same.





	I Love You (More Than You Think I Do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lululawrence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lululawrence/gifts).



> This hot mess of a fic is for you, my darling Sus! <3
> 
> I did an absolute shit job of sticking to your original prompt that I chose for this challenge, but I'm praying you won't mind. This story sort of took control, and I felt I just had to see it through. It felt like the soft, angsty love story I was meant to write for you. I hope you love it as much as I love you!
> 
> Massive thanks to Meg, [Shannon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/secretswekeepxx/pseuds/secretswekeepxx/works), and [Destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrystanslouis) for being the best betas and cheerleaders I could ever ask for!
> 
> Title taken from Alex & Sierra's 'I Love You,' written by Mick Greenberg aka Mr. Harry Styles. Thanks for the inspiration, you sap.
> 
> This is my first time writing this type of fic, and the nerves were real! So I hope I did alright and it's enjoyable. Thanks for reading!

“So then, if you can even believe - I mean, the fuckin’ gall, the nerve of this kid - he looked me right in the eye and said, and I quote, ‘You’re so pretty.’”

Harry squirms uncomfortably on his side of their diner booth, his arse squeaking against the cracked plastic, poking a limp chip at the mound of ketchup on his plate. He listens as Louis goes on and on and _on_ about Alpha #5 who wasn’t good enough for him this month, headache growing stronger the louder Louis complains.

“Haz, did you hear me?” Louis chirps, waving his hand in front of Harry’s face. “Hellooo, Earth to Styles.”

Harry nods, looking up to meet his eyes for the first time in too many minutes. _You are pretty,_ he wants to say. _So pretty. So fucking pretty and funny and smart and wonderful, I can hardly stand it._ “Sucks,” he says instead.

“Hey,” Louis says when Harry drops his gaze again, “you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Harry mumbles, unwilling to participate in this conversation out of the very real fear that he’ll become more than hurt. He doesn’t know how he’d cope with being truly annoyed with Louis, much less angry.

“Haz.”

“I said I’m fine, Lou.”

He expects Louis to keep on, to argue until he finally relents, ignoring the bruising pain spreading through his heart. But he says nothing, offers no further snark, no more one-liners about the general awfulness of alphas. Instead, he slides his arm across the table and rests his hand atop Harry’s, his fingers dancing against the softness of the top of his hand, his touch like electricity.

“I didn’t mean you,” he says quietly. “You know I never mean you.”

“You sure about that?” Harry can’t help but retort.

Louis grips his hand, slipping his fingers underneath to cradle his palm. “Of course I’m sure. Harry,” he says, waiting pointedly for him to return his gaze. “Babe, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, just wants to be done with this so they can go home and watch a bit of telly and fall asleep. So they can get out of here and move on to the part of their day when Harry drifts into a dream, Louis’ cheek pressed to his chest, inappropriate thoughts of _I love you_ and selfish pleas of _God, please never let him find someone else_ running through his sleep-hazy mind.

Louis pays their bill, as he always does because he’s the only one of the two of them who has a proper job rather than a pointless internship. And they leave, as they always do, fingers intertwined, hands bumping softly against one another’s thighs, shoulders never parting for long as they make their way to their flat.

The thing is, Harry does know Louis is excluding him every time he bitches about alphas and their entitled attitudes, their grabby hands, their arousal-driven rudeness. Which, Harry is obviously happy to have Louis know him like he does and know he isn’t like that, but still. It’s like Louis doesn’t think of him as an alpha _at all._

He never seems to stop talking about it, his desire to find an alpha who loves him for who he is rather than who he’s supposed to be, his frustration over only ever meeting arseholes who have the ridiculous nerve to compliment him, the few who have tried to kiss him staying in the news cycle for even longer until he grows tired of talking about the tall one with curls that “weren’t as springy as yours, Harold,” or the muscular one with tattoos that “didn’t match mine, so what’s the point?”

Every rainy afternoon he’s spent in Louis’ arms, listening to his tales of failed romance, all he’s wanted to do is show him why it never works with anyone else. But he can’t do that. He tried once, tried to cross that line, toe the boundaries that kept his heart from ever feeling whole. And Louis had said no.

He’ll never forget the look of pure panic that had flashed across Louis’ face when he’d finally gathered the courage to say those words aloud, like he was trying to stop Harry from ruining everything. He’d decided on casual suggestion, a _maybe this happened for a reason, Lou._ When he’d presented early, not twenty-four hours after Louis’ own emergence as the perfect omega he is, he’d thought maybe, just maybe, Louis would see. Something in Harry, something between them, something he’d never seen before. But when Louis had pulled away from his embrace and run out of his house as if Harry had set him afire, that was that. Harry would have to be either pretty dumb or insanely masochistic to confess again.

So instead, he hurts quietly. He cries only when Louis leaves for classes or work, always so aware of the smile he has to fake all too often. He only sleeps with Louis’ worn jumpers that are too big for him anyway until he mentions having lost them, relinquishing his secret hold on them to the washing machine before returning them folded to Louis’ bed, before he has to ask again. He listens to his stories, the pain ripping through him relentlessly. He cares for him up close, keeping his heart at a distance, always scrambling to hold onto some tiny semblance of self-preservation.

They reach their flat, and Harry can’t bear it any longer. He toes off his boots and heads for his room, focusing determinedly on the chipped paint on his door to stop himself from spinning around and running back to Louis when he says his name quietly, hesitantly, like a question. He closes the door softly, Louis’ voice rattling around in his head, the way he’d said Harry’s name sounding more and more distorted with each silent repetition.

He shimmies out of his jeans and pulls his jumper over his head, the curl Louis had made curlier by wrapping it around his finger falling in front of his face. He lets it stay where it wants to be, impairing his vision, and lies in bed, crawling under the duvet and crumpled sheets. Hot, angry tears fill his eyes, slipping out from behind his closed eyelids, running across the bridge of his nose and falling to the pillow to help it stick to his cheek.

He focuses on breathing as evenly as possible as he hears the tell-tale sounds of a beautiful, loud boy making tea in the kitchen. He falls asleep before Louis can use a nice cuppa as an excuse to come in and drape his warm body across his chest. But Louis doesn’t have to be so close for his honeyed scent to surround Harry, making it difficult to breathe at all, tears or no tears. He dreams of small boys playing on monkey bars, one of them falling more often than the other. Falling to the hard ground and falling in love. Even as young as they were.

{~~~}

Things have been weird between them since the day Harry couldn’t bear to lie anymore. He hasn’t told the truth exactly, but he’s gotten into the habit of leaving every time Louis starts to go down the road that always ends in Harry’s heartache.

The first few times it happened, Louis let him wander off without much of an argument. Perhaps he sensed that Harry needed space for whatever reason and just let it be. But the last couple of times, he made it clear that he was feeling neglected. He was especially annoyed this time, demanding to know why Harry was behaving so strangely, so withholding. And that was _it._

The words Harry threw back at him only to regret the second they left his mouth sit on his tongue still, burning as he sits on the floor, back pressed against the side of his bed, where he’d collapsed after his escape, legs failing the moment the door had slammed behind him. _I’m not your alpha!_ he’d screamed after a particularly scathing round of interrogation. Wet sobs wrack his chest, the tension behind his brain threatening to explode and kill them both.

The overwhelming need to barrel through the door and run into Louis’ tight embrace grips his throat in a chokehold, heavy tears cascading over his cheeks, smeared under his palms when he covers his face to muffle the sound of his crying.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been like this, at what point he picked himself up from the floor to rest his weary bones against the softness of his bed, when a quiet knock breaks the silence that has settled since his tears dried up, leaving his skin stiff and his lips chapped.

“Haz,” comes a small, timid voice. The hint of fear audible in his voice causes Harry’s heart to fall from his ribcage, a sickening worry overshadowing most of the sadness.

He stands from the bed and goes toward that voice, just as he always has, just as he always will. He opens the door slowly until he can’t help but swing it open the rest of the way as a rich, warm scent invades his senses. The soft boy before him whimpers so quietly Harry wouldn’t be able to hear it if he weren’t so attuned to his every sound. Something is wrong. More wrong than the distance between their hearts.

Louis’ eyes are ever so bright in the dim light of the hallway, just a touch of sunlight traveling that far to caress his cheeks and turn them golden. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, his eyes locked on Harry’s. “I...something just happened.”

He looks borderline terrified. “Are you okay?” Harry asks, his priorities never wavering.

“I’m fine,” Louis says weakly. And is he shivering?

Louis steps closer, and his scent rushes toward Harry like a living, breathing thing, crawling its way into his brain until he can barely think through the haze. Louis’ uncertainty is clear on his face, eyes drawn down, brows pinched together, lips pulled in a tight, thin line. Harry nods, willing him to come closer, his own pain still throbbing, but Louis’ absolutely unbearable.

Louis falls forward into Harry’s chest, his nose crushed against his neck as he breathes him in. Harry wraps his arms loosely around his waist, and they stand there for too long, breathing together, hurt falling away in each other’s warmth, despite it all. Louis is still shaking against his chest, though, and Harry doesn’t like that.

“Louis, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice still rough from crying.

Louis shakes his head, his nose swiping against Harry’s neck. “Nothing.”

“Lou.”

A shaky sigh escapes Louis’ lips, his warm breath sending shivers down Harry’s spine as it hits his skin. Louis takes a step back, hesitating for only a moment. “Fighting with you jumpstarted my heat,” he mumbles, the words leaving his mouth in a single, rushed breath.

A wave of nausea washes over Harry, a cold, heavy rain drowning him where he stands. He’s scared to look into Louis’ eyes, absolutely terrified to look anywhere else. This isn’t their comfort zone. This isn’t them. Harry isn’t sure he can handle much more of Louis looking like this. Small and scared and in need of everything he won’t let Harry give him.

“Now?” he whispers, the air still and quiet around his question, deafening in the new silence.

Louis shakes his head slightly, glancing up to lock eyes again, blue reflecting green with the help of glimmering unshed tears. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“What do you want to do?” Harry asks, trying his damned hardest through the panic to at least _appear_ calm. If he’s this spooked himself, he can’t even imagine what Louis must be feeling right now, with his body reacting as violently as Harry knows it can at times like this.

Louis doesn’t respond, just continues to shrink into himself in the hallway outside of Harry’s bedroom, smaller and sadder with each passing moment until Harry can’t stand it any longer. He moves closer, ridding them of the distance Louis had created.

He lifts a hand to Louis’ face, swiping his thumb gently over a fresh tear track and brushing the soft, wavy hair that’s fallen in front of his shimmering eyes. “Do you want to call anyone? Think you need help getting through this one?” Harry pushes, just wanting to help him get somewhere he feels safe and as ready as he can be to get through the torture of the next few days.

Louis tenses under his touch, obviously opposed to the idea. But he still doesn't speak.

“Lou, I can't help you if you don't tell me what you want.”

Louis collapses back into his arms, giving no warning at all. He sobs quietly, and Harry only barely hears it over the sound of his own heart cracking right down the middle, so utterly unable to care for the broken boy in his arms in the way he wants to. Smoothing his palm over the back of Louis’ head, slipping his fingers through his soft hair, keeping him still, safe against his own neck, he waits.

Then, a hushed murmur. “I want what I can’t have,” Louis whispers, his words muffled against Harry’s sweaty neck. He’s still shivering, but his skin is hot, his lips like fire against Harry’s pulse. He smells so fucking good. His words send a jolt of electricity through Harry’s body.

“What’s that?” Harry braves the question, horrible, torturous desire rattling against his bones with every inhale of his boy, the hint of sticky caramel burning off of him slowing his thoughts.

Louis is quiet for a moment. Then, “Want you to do it.”

Somehow, Harry knew he'd hear those words before they left Louis’ mouth, but he could never have prepared for them. He sucks in a harsh breath of air, knowing he has to refuse the one thing he wants most in the world.

Louis has already fallen into the haze of his heat. He doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't know what he’s asking for. And Harry would never be able to forgive himself if Louis woke up from it all and had even an inkling of regret.

“Lou,” he says, trying for a comforting tone, “I can't. You know we can't. You’re just freaked out right now because you weren't expecting it yet. I'll help you get ready, you don't have to be scared.”

Louis pulls away, and regret twists in Harry’s gut, writhing angrily. There is hurt in those blue eyes, something like tired defeat nearly turning them grey. “Don’t” he says, stepping back even further so they’re no longer touching. “Don't make it…” he starts, his voice falling away. He pulls the sleeves of his jumper past his fingers and wraps his paws around himself. “I’m scared every time. Being with you is the safest thing I’ve ever felt.”

“Lou-” Harry tries to soothe the hurt radiating from his eyes, suddenly drained of their vibrancy, ocean waters lying still.

“I know,” Louis interjects with finality, turning to escape to his room, to escape from Harry. “You’re not my alpha.”

{~~~}

Harry goes for a run. Anything to get out of the flat, away from Louis’ overwhelmingly sweet scent, stronger than ever before, with Louis always locking himself away or running off during his heats. Away from the quiet whimpers he can hear above everything else through the door separating them as Louis cries, breaking apart where Harry can’t reach him. He just can’t.

He has to be strong for both of them. Louis is gone to his instincts, that’s all. And Harry has to protect Louis from himself, from what he only thinks he wants because he fell into heat too suddenly and let the rational part of his mind be taken over by raw need.

But it’s not all selfless, his refusal to acquiesce to Louis’ softly-spoken request. He can’t let himself fall any further. Before Louis had let those words slip, Harry hadn’t thought it possible to fall more in love with his best friend, with that beautiful omega who behaves like anything but, except when they're alone. Except when he lies against Harry’s chest and lets him cradle his smaller frame as they fall asleep, letting himself be cared for just as he should be every moment of every day. But now, Harry knows the danger. He’s all too aware of the certainty that being with Louis in that way would make it all a thousand times worse.

He can't do it if it doesn't mean something. If it doesn't mean _everything._

The air is chilly with the promise of a bleak winter, this one feeling darker with every day that passes with the two of them ignoring the distance that’s grown since the lunch that caused something in Harry’s brain to snap. He stops running, panting desperately, not enough oxygen in the earth’s atmosphere to calm his aching lungs. He takes a few seconds to lose himself in his surroundings, to really see the falling leaves, dry and bright with autumn, to notice the crumbs of the road, bits and pieces kicked up by cars and playing children and relentless rain.

He can’t give Louis what he asked for so mindlessly. But he’ll do everything else imaginable to bring him comfort. He won’t stop trying until he’s fixed them. He’ll stitch them together again, be the needle that pulls thread through their tired hearts until they come back to being one. In as many ways as they can be.

He jogs home, his heart pounding hard against his ribs, mind swirling with anxiety and fuzzy determination. He wants to stop, to fall to the hard ground and let it swallow him whole. But something pulses inside of him like the ticking of a clock, time moving too quickly with no regard for silly emotions such as this.

Forcing himself calmer before entering the flat, he opens the door quietly, breath held in anticipation as he waits to hear muted sobs coming from behind a door resolutely closed with a lovely boy on the other side. They don’t come, and a breath of relief makes it halfway out of Harry’s mouth before he realizes it’s a premature reaction, a foolish moment of hope. The memories of Louis always leaving painfully flash in Harry’s mind, a reminder of why he can't do this.

He quickly walks to Louis’ room, knocking softly on the door. With no response, he turns the knob and cracks it open, peering in through the small slit. The burning dread in his heart begins to cool immediately, fire turning to ash, upon seeing a mess of caramel hair peeking out from under Louis’ old duvet. Shadows creep along the walls as the sun begins to set outside his window. Harry can't see much of him, but of what is visible, he looks beautiful. He looks peaceful for the time being.

Content for now just with Louis’ presence, his still being safely inside their cocoon of a flat, Harry closes the door and retreats to his own room, happily allowing him to rest any time he can manage to ignore the pain of what Harry could never fully understand for long enough to fall asleep. He sits on his bed and opens his laptop, the pain of not being able to care for his boy throbbing in the front of his mind as he begins his search.

He’s studied plenty about omega’s heats over the years, knows all about the symptoms even despite Louis’ refusal to let him in when he’s experiencing them. He knows by his own nature about the painful yearning, the need for comfort, to be cared for. He knows the ways in which those feelings present, as intense hot flashes and nerve pain and sweet, intoxicating omega scent meant to drive alphas wild.

He knows from experience what it's like after the throws of heat. He knows that Louis still craves gentle touches, is soft and content and shiny around the edges, wants nothing more than to snooze on top of Harry on their sofa while _Grease_ plays quietly in the background of Harry’s sweetest dream. The pain that comes with Louis leaving, denying Harry any chance to be the one to help him, is always so easily soothed by the fluttering of his eyelashes against Harry’s neck afterward, the lingering scent of candied fruit still in his pretty hair.

What he isn't so knowledgeable about is what comes before the worst of it. About half an hour into his search, after reading page after page that confirmed his worst nightmare that the start of it can be just as dreadful as the heat itself, made him cringe in self-hatred for not seeking this information sooner so that he might have been more of a comfort to the boy he loves, the boy who shines like the sun, he finds it. An obscure blog detailing the lesser-known facts about heat, as told by omegas themselves.

Nerve pain is mentioned, but the next post describes cold chills, an unquenchable need for warmth that flips instantaneously to painful hot flashes the second the omega’s heat truly sets in. Harry thinks of the way Louis had leaned against him outside of his bedroom, shivering violently, of the way he was nestled so deep under his blankets despite the heat spreading through their flat.

Loneliness. Not simply a need for closeness, but a need for one specific person, oftentimes an alpha. The alpha known by the omega to be _theirs._

 _It's no secret_ _that omegas know their mates and long for their touch even before they've met,_ wrote one anonymous member. _It's one of the “mysteries” about us omegas that no one seems to ever remember._

Harry's blood runs cold as he stares at that post, unable to scroll any further. Why would Louis ask him to do this if he knows, by his very nature, that he has an alpha somewhere searching for him? He must be searching. Anyone who had the promise of such a perfect mate as Louis would surely be desperate to find him. Sure, alphas don't, to his knowledge, have such a gift, but Louis is special. His mate would know.

Hot tears fill his eyes as he thinks back to all of Louis’ failed conquests. The tiny amount of hope he didn't realize he had left until now is gone before he could ever even grasp onto it as he realizes brokenly that Louis never rejected them because they weren't Harry. He rejected them, quite consciously, because he knows his mate. And none of those clumsy alphas who complimented him too quickly or tried to kiss him without enough verbal foreplay first were who he knew he was looking for. Harry isn't either.

Embarrassed at his own stupid desperation, he angrily wipes the tears from his eyes and continues to scroll, all that matters now learning what he can to comfort the boy sleeping across the hall who will never be able to love him back.

He continues to read through various posts and their comments until, _Do our alphas not realize we're still totally present until our heats actually hit? We know what we're asking for. We know what we want._

He can't deny the flicker of hope that suddenly reemerges when he reads those words, dizzily bringing him back to life, pushing against his heart to form a welcome bruise.

The idea seems so ridiculous now, that Louis begged for him simply because he was the nearest alpha when Louis unexpectedly dropped into the start of his heat. He knew what he was asking for. He knew what he wanted. And Harry can only hope and pray that it's still him.

Another reads, _Sure, we’re kind of out of it, but we still have a brain during heat. In fact, we know even more who our alpha is, wanting nothing but him when we can't breathe without._

He sits, stupefied, frantically processing every memory he can call to the front of his mind that might validate his hope. The roller coaster of emotions leaves his heart exhausted, but that hope is unrelenting.

 _He’s mine,_ his mind screams desperately. _He has to know I'm his._

Before he can work himself into a lather, a loud, pained groan sounds through the flat, traveling to his ears straight from the perfect, pink lips of a beautiful omega he's just beginning to understand might have been hurting all this time just as much as he was.

He jumps up from his bed, tripping only once over a pair of Louis’ trainers, and rips open the door, nearly removing it from its hinges in his haste. Pausing to move a bit slower, his last wish being to frighten Louis, he opens the last door separating them and walks to the bed without preamble.

Louis is spread out over the duvet, sweat glistening on his forehead, above his top lip, over his neck and down to his collarbones, shining in the moonlight sneaking into his room. He managed to remove his jumper at some point, throwing it to the foot of the bed to tangle between his toes as he squirms in discomfort. His hair is matted in the back, and at any other time, Harry would find it endearing. But right now, it’s only heartbreaking.

“Lou?” he coos softly, watching as Louis’ eyes flash open, a new amber gold shining in his irises where usually there is only aquamarine. Another sign Harry knows well, his own emerald eyes turning black during his ruts, just as Louis’ have turned golden, challenging the sun in their brightness.

The breath leaves his lungs in a rush as Louis closes his eyes again, sobbing quietly into the open air, no strength left to encourage him to hide his pain. Louis reaches up, his arms stretched out toward Harry, his fingers grabbing at nothing as Harry stays just a hair’s breadth out of reach.

“Please,” Louis murmurs, his arm remaining outstretched until Harry takes his hand in his own and lowers it to the bed. He sits beside him, and within a flash of a second, Louis is on him, pushing him down, lying on top of him until Harry's back is against the duvet, his head landing softly on Louis’ pillow.

Louis’ scent is too much, suffocating him as Louis drapes his body across him, his skin scorching to the touch, and hides his face in Harry’s neck. His sounds alternate between his breathing Harry in deeply, air hissing through his nose as he scents him desperately, and quiet whimpers that grow louder the longer Harry lets him take without giving anything back. He wants to, of course, but he can't move, he can't breathe, he can't think past the feeling of Louis’ weight against him.

His arousal sprang to life the moment he smelled the heavy aroma radiating off of Louis’ warm skin, and Louis’ grinding against him certainly isn't helping the situation. He can smell his slick, can't help but imagine how he must taste, what the shimmery, sweet liquid must look like dripping down his inner thighs.

Louis seems lost, incoherent. But Harry remembers through the haze clouding his own brain the words he'd read that brought him here. Louis is his. And he is Louis’. And Louis fucking _knows_ it.

Harry’s attention is forced back to the present when Louis digs his teeth into his neck, a sharp, delicious pain sparking like firecrackers, heat raging through his body. Alphas might not have bond marks, but that doesn't mean Louis didn't just claim him.

Harry rolls them over, trapping Louis beneath him. He expected, for a moment, for Louis to squirm under his hold, to whine or beg or cry. But he doesn't. He stills completely, a small, tired smile crawling onto his lips as he falls compliant, his bright, metallic eyes saying everything Harry ever needed to hear.

“I'm sorry, baby,” Harry says, smoothing his fingers over Louis’ damp cheeks. “I was blind. I'm so sorry.”

Louis whimpers below him, his arms wrapped around Harry’s back, trying to pull him closer even with their chests are already touching, Louis’ bare skin against the soft fabric of Harry’s jumper. “Alpha…” he sighs, rocking his hips up, his cock hard inside of his boxers, growing wetter with every minute, grinding against Harry’s own still trapped in his shorts.

Swallowing thickly, Harry nods, dropping his head to nose along Louis’ ear, delighted by the shiver that ripples through him at the contact. “That’s right, baby. Your alpha is here. It's okay now. You're okay.”

Louis seems to melt at that, his body giving off even more heat, the gold of his eyes flickering like a flame. “Mine,” he responds deliriously, moving his body against Harry’s in a torturous rhythm. “Mine.”

Harry explores his neck, humming his agreeance, stopping at the patch of skin that smells so good, so overwhelmingly delicious, he nearly blacks out. He kisses him there, softly, letting his breath linger, imagining what it will be like when he bites down on it later, making them one in every way he ever dreamed of. Louis gasps beneath him, crying out a moment later as he comes from almost nothing.

Harry rambles on lovingly as Louis comes down from his high. “Gonna take care of you, Lou. My perfect boy. Such a beautiful, little omega. You're so strong, baby. Just gorgeous for your alpha. I've got you.” He’s careful not to say more, not to say the words he’s wished to be able to utter for years. He needs to know Louis hears him when he tells him how heart-wrenchingly in love with him he's been since long before he even knew what that meant.

Almost disbelieving that this could actually be happening, he waits until Louis opens his eyes, needs to see that he still wants this. He's met with fire. Before he can lower his lips to Louis’, seeking their first kiss, Louis lifts his head from the pillow and takes it from him. Louis doesn't need to be brave. Courage isn't needed when something belongs to you. And Harry belongs to him, body and soul.

They kiss, slowly, languidly, hot breath mixing as tongues dance together, teeth nipping at plump, red lips. They kiss hungrily, Harry unable to control the quiet growls that escape his throat when Louis whimpers in just the right way to make _desire_ seem like an understatement. They kiss like it's all that matters, hands wandering over any skin they can reach, Louis’ sliding underneath Harry’s jumper until it's lost in their movement and he can touch freely, Harry’s dipping past the waistband of Louis’ boxers to caress the soft mounds inside, slick sticking to his fingers.

There's a pounding in his head, a heavy weight in his chest, a feeling of overwhelming need he can't seem to shake. He pulls away to breathe, lightheadedness unceasing even with the steady intake of oxygen.

Louis’ hands move to rest on his face, his palms warm and tingly against Harry’s rosy cheeks. His eyes are clearer suddenly, still shining gold, but softer, like the raging fire in them has calmed to a low, flickering flame. They gaze at one another, and Harry waits as Louis appears to be gathering his thoughts, trying to speak.

It doesn't take but a minute or so for Louis to come back, and Harry would have happily stayed right here for much, much longer, waiting to hear his favorite voice, hushed and amorous just for him.

“Haz,” Louis says quietly, pulling Harry down for another gentle kiss. “You're falling into rut. Your eyes are almost completely black.”

Just at hearing those words from Louis’ mouth, a wave of heat rushes over him, confirming it, understanding finally blooming at the feeling of incompleteness, of desperation that's been making it so hard to breathe. He can't help but move his lower half against Louis again, Louis shivering in sensitivity, bucking up into him helplessly.

“I'm…fuck,” Harry starts, beginning to feel himself slip away already, needing to say as much as he can while he’s still sane, while Louis seems to have found a bit of temporary clarity after his first orgasm. “I have, like...no control when I fall, Lou. Are you sure?”

Louis nods, eyes fluttering closed as his head dips back into his pillow when Harry scents him desperately, licking at his neck before coming back to kiss him.

“We’ll be gone from here, but not from each other,” Louis says, haze already visibly setting in once more. “You'll know what to do.” He kisses Harryonce more, licking into his mouth lazily. “Trust you,” he murmurs.

Harry is only given a moment to think about that, to trust Louis above everything else, before it all goes black and all that he knows is the feel of his omega’s lips against his own. The touch of his soft skin, alive with tremors of pleasure. The taste of him, strong and sweet with desire. The sound of promises being made. And the way he looks in this strange, ethereal light gifted by the moon.

{~~~}

Harry wakes to darkness, his surroundings only barely illuminated by moonlight pouring in from the window. His chest is pressed tightly against a warm body, and it takes him a moment to remember. Joy courses through his veins as Louis wriggles back into him and he realizes they're still connected. A soft sound of contentment escapes Louis’ lips as he sleeps comfortably in Harry’s embrace.

Harry’s body thrums with leftover pleasure, something that feels a lot like peace flowing steadily between them. He focuses on the feeling of Louis against him, his heart beating calmly for the first time in a long while when he finds his boy’s skin warm, but no longer burning.

A hazy thought suddenly comes to the forefront of his mind. It's a strange thing, the way the thought feels to have come from somewhere else. And then he hears that thought spoken aloud.

“Knew you’d figure it out eventually,” Louis murmurs, echoing Harry’s borrowed thought, his hand gently holding onto the arm Harry has wrapped around his chest.

Harry smiles, unable to control his fondness for his perfect, gorgeous omega. He lifts himself up on his elbow and looks down at Louis, his face pristine in the soft moonlight. His eyes catch on his neck, on the tender spot still shimmering with their bond. A brief flicker of a memory burns behind his eyes, an image of love and understanding and unspoken promises, of their souls connecting so seamlessly.

Reading his thoughts effortlessly, Louis giggles, his body shaking against Harry’s. Harry feels as if he’s still dreaming with that bright, lovely sound piercing his heart. “I think you missed the first few times, my love,” Louis says, just as dreamily.

Harry breathes out a groan when Louis shifts forward to let Harry slip out of him, laughing quietly when he turns over, exposing his overbitten neck, bruises and bitemarks littering his pale skin. “No,” Harry says, so full of joy and hope and pride, “you were right. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“So you _were_ trying to eat me whole?” Louis teases, his sly grin more than Harry ever wished for.

“Can't get enough of you,” Harry says, their matching smiles glittering in the pale light.

Louis pulls him down for a kiss, his fingers tangling in Harry’s wild curls. The emotion that comes from it is too much, feeling his own joy as well as Louis’, with the added happiness of Louis’ delight in feeling Harry’s own radiating back into his soul, their emotions one. Harry could never tire of this. Louis seems to understand, the crinkles by his eyes more pronounced than they've been in a very long time. He’s just...beautiful.

Louis pushes Harry onto his back and lays his head on his bare chest, lifting a hand to dance his fingers across his freckled skin, taking what has always been his. It will always be for him.

There's a light in Louis’ eyes and a feeling of nostalgia penetrating Harry’s heart, and he asks when Louis gazes at him softly, peacefully, “What are you thinking about?”

Louis blushes, the rose on his cheeks so pretty and perfectly in place. He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s chest and another to his collarbone. “You’ve been mine since I pushed you down on the playground,” he says, moving to Harry’s lips, hovering over them teasingly. “And I’ve been yours since before I ever even went through with that genius plan to get the cute boy with the curls to notice me.”

A quiet chuckle leaves Harry’s throat at the memory, his eyes locked on Louis’, back to their breathtaking blue. After a moment, the humor in Louis’ eyes lessens almost imperceptibly, and Harry has to say it. “Lou?” he murmurs.

Another kiss. “Yes, baby?”

Harry’s smile returns with the term spoken in such adoration, such certainty. He vaguely remembers him saying it before, but it means so much more like this, whispered calmly, outside of any desperation.

“I've loved you for so long. I need for you to know that. I stayed away not out of a lack of love, but a surplus.”

There is a new wetness to Louis’ eyes, shimmering like a clear, deep river. “I know,” he says.

“Why didn't you tell me? Why did you never let me…?”

Louis dips his head down to scent at Harry’s neck. “I needed you to figure it out on your own. It was important to me that _you_ knew, not just your alpha.”

“I did,” Harry says, unable to understand how Louis hadn't seen it. “I fell in love with you as Louis before I ever even thought of you as my omega. I couldn't have even known we were each other's when I first knew I loved you.”

“When you presented early,” Louis says, “right after I did? That's when I knew you were mine.”

Harry nods, “I prayed for it that night and every night after.”

“I had a feeling,” Louis says, a sweet smile on his kiss-bitten lips. “I just...I had to know for sure. I'm sorry I wasn't...truthful.”

A thought crosses Harry’s mind, a painful memory he hasn't had to relive since Louis’ lips first touched his, God-only-knows how many nights before when they surrendered to their instincts. “Why did you run away? When I suggested we might be more?”

An expression of hurt and regret flashes across Louis’ face, just a moment of shared pain before he kisses it away for them both. “I was scared. I thought maybe you didn't want it to be that way, but you thought we had to. I needed _you_ to want to be with me, whether or not we were destined to be together.”

Harry runs his fingers through Louis’ messy fringe, brushing it away from his eyes. “I've always loved you, Lou.”

“I know that now. I know it, Harry.”

Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s torso, squeezing him with as much strength as he can manage in his exhaustion from what Harry can only guess was at least a few days. The tears are immediate, cool and refreshing, as Louis holds him like this, like he never wants to let go ever again.

“I love you, Haz,” Louis says quietly. “My wonderful,” he pauses to kiss Harry’s nipple, “amazing,” a kiss to his collarbone, “loving,” another to his neck, “beautiful,” one placed upon his jawline, “perfect alpha.” He presses the longest kiss of all to his lips, passionately sweet and lingering. “I love you so much.”

Harry giggles, unable to contain his joy when Louis lies atop him, snuggling into his warmth, still peppering kisses all over his face. “I know,” he says. “I know you do.”

“If you thought I demanded to be spoiled before, you're in for a shocking twist,” Louis murmurs, nibbling at Harry’s ear, a brightness in his eyes when he comes up for air.

Smiles turn to laughter as Harry takes him down, flipping him onto his back and kissing him quiet, rejoicing in his chance to do just that. He’ll spoil his omega until he can take no more. He can't imagine a better twist to their story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little story about idiots in love. Those are my favorites, of course.
> 
> I love feedback, so please feel welcome to talk to me in the comments or on [Tumblr](http://larryandgaystuff.tumblr.com)! Just remember to be nice to nice. :)
> 
> If you liked this fic, please share my post on Tumblr, which can be found [here](http://larryandgaystuff.tumblr.com/post/http://larryandgaystuff.tumblr.com/post/171450027134/i-love-you-more-than-you-think-i-do-by%20%20%20%20%20%20)!


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